The Devil's Eyes
by AmandaLovesLeprechauns
Summary: Michael is a monster. The Devil himself. He has picked off his whole family one by one, and now he's all alone. In a world where nobody will have him, where is he to go when his own nightmares come for him? AU. Michael/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Devil's Eyes**

**_Author's Note: I don't own anything having to do with Michael Myers or Halloween or anything else recognizable, of course. Also, this is my first fic on here, so pointers would be well appreciated. Also 'Janie' in the beginning is and OC, not to be confused with Jamie Lloyd, Laurie's daughter. Just clearing that up. :)_**

**Chapter One**

The knife went in, the knife went out, and with every passing scream, gasp, and plea for help or justice, Janie squeezed her eyes shut tighter until she saw nothing but darkness, and she could pretend for a moment that the world around her was nothing more than her empty bedroom. The screams, the nightmares, the pain and the loss didn't exist anymore, and she shook with her knees pulled up to her chest; she was like a child hiding from the monsters, taking refuge at the bottom of her closet, her hands pressed over her ears to drown out the noise.

The screaming stopped; the sound of her breath was suddenly the loudest thing in the room, and with every expansion of her lungs, a searing pain pounded the wound in her stomach leaving her face glazed with a fine mist of sweat. The edges of her vision blurred and blackened as she lifted her head, a slight panic swirling around her gut.

The silence and the darkness conspired against her, hiding him in plain sight so she had no advantage. Trying as hard as she could to slow her breathing, she listened closely as the sound of his evenly measured footfalls sounded in her ears. She stole a peek through the crack in the closet door but to no avail, she couldn't see him, he always made sure of that. The element of surprise was second nature to him, and suddenly she knew he was looking back. Seeing her like she couldn't see him. Clear as day.

She moved back into the shadows as quickly and noiselessly as she possibly could, praying that she was wrong. With the drop of her head onto her knees, Janie wished and hoped that he'd leave her be; that he'd come to his senses before it was too late for her as well. She thought of her Mother and Father, her baby brother all butchered just out in the hall... in the pit of her heart she knew he wouldn't let her free. The footfalls grew ever closer, steadily, tauntingly. Tears pricked her dark blue eyes.

She glanced as briefly as she could through the small crack once more, and finally she spotted it. Question answered; plan set. He hadn't forgotten her.

The kitchen knife glinted in the moonlight that streamed serenely through the bedroom window. A pool of silver and crimson that ordinarily wouldn't have sent such a chill down her spine, and she attempted to push herself farther into the closet; feeling with her back for a place where she could hide, where she'd be safe. The door moved slightly, and he stepped in front of it like he'd been there all along.

She sprang to her feet, her body colliding with the clothes hung just above her, and she lost herself in them. She felt his rough hands searching for her, attempting to pull her out. A quick jab with the long knife missed her by millimeters, and she screamed, finally breaking loose from the clothes and attempting with all her might to make the great escape. She jumped out, pushing past him like her life depended on it, which of course... it did.

He was quicker than her, grabbing her around her middle with his forearm; effortless. He yanked her back and slammed her into the closet once more, the place where she'd taken refuge suddenly becoming the place of her murder.

"Michael please! Think about what you're doing! It's me! It's Janie! Michael, please!"

A scream rang out, deafening her momentarily in the small space like it'd come from somebody else and she wasn't expecting it. His expressionless white face guarded his emotions, but she knew as she stared into his dark black eyes that wasn't truly feeling any. Not anymore. She tried once more to get away, pushing against him weakly, sobbing in fear and pain. The wound in her stomach throbbed with every movement, and she felt warm liquid pooling in the seat of her jeans as his hand came up to her throat.

He lifted her off the ground with one hand and her throat constricted painfully as he crushed her windpipe entirely. The world seemed to speed up and slow down all at once, and the panic that had risen in her chest with the lack of air suddenly left her, and she went limp for a moment. Tears sprang to her eyes just as they closed, losing the image of his empty masked face to blackness just before her lights went out.

The sound of sirens blared through the night air as he exited through the back of the house. Nobody would see him now, of that he was 100% sure. He slipped easily into the darkness, his face sweaty and stone-serious beneath the white painted mask. He made his way into the woods slowly, not bothering all that much to be discreet. It wasn't until he was miles away, standing alone next to a small, still lake that his mind released him once more, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for air underneath the boogeyman mask. He pulled it off and it fell to the dirt, and quickly he splashed cool water over his face.

He curled up by the lakeside until the police cleared out and the sun rose up. Another halloween was over.

He stumbled along down the road, his heart racing in his chest, his lungs aching with the effort put in to keeping his body moving. The October air was cool and crisp against his face, and his body was stiff and tired. A Mother walking her young son to school side-stepped him, leading her child out into the road to avoid the path of Michael Myers. He wondered quietly what he must look like to her; what she thought of him. His mind drifted to the fact that the whole town must've known precisely what happened the night before. The police had only been called once, but the screaming had to have caused some commotion. The mask was still in the woods, but he still wore the black bodysuit that kept him looking presentable underneath.

Quickly he turned off the sidewalk into a narrow patch of woods that didn't cover him all to well but would suffice if he worked quickly. He unzipped the front of the suit and spotted the name tag he didn't see before: Jeff. A mechanic named Jeff had donated this suit to him after his untimely end, and now he had to leave it abandoned in the woods. He stepped out of it and kicked it under a bit of underbrush. Sacrifices had to be made.

Looking down at his long black sleeves, tattered and torn from overwear, and his black pants in similar condition, he shook his head. 40 degree October weather, and here he was - Mr. Unsuspicious, covered in blood and dirt and stumbling down the road the night after a set of brutal murders occurred only a few short blocks away. He needed a place to go, and that only left one person. One person, and one very long walk.

Exiting the woods, he set off on his long trek, crossing his arms across his chest protectively and avoiding eye contact with all the passers by. They didn't need to see him as anything other than another person lost in the post-butcher heebie jeebies, and so as they passed him by he sniffled a bit just for dramatic effect.

Time passed by immeasurably as he walked, and his body was sticky and cold with sweat when he finally crossed the border from one town to the next. Entering a place where the population was more than 4,000 people at any given time felt like he'd been given a second chance, and he jogged his memory for directions to the house he'd been to so many times in the past. The house that kept him safe from himself.

Looking left and right before crossing the quiet suburban street, Michael spotted two teenage girls holding onto one another, crying, kneeling down on the sidewalk in front of a large house that looked only vaguely familiar, and his chest tightened at the sight in nothing more than pure disgust. He'd caused their pain, just as he had so many times before, and as he stood in the middle of the empty road staring, he wondered what it must be like to lose somebody so important to you, so irreplaceable, that you just broke down on the sidewalk in front of their house and cried. He shook his head clear of the thought and forced himself to finish crossing. Suspicious was a bad thing, and teenage girls sobbing on the sidewalk just wasn't a spectator sport.

The door he'd been envisioning for the better part of his walk through town was before him, and he stood awkwardly on the concrete front porch staring at the ridiculous purple thing, wondering why he'd assumed it would be okay to come here. Nobody wanted him here, and he was doing nothing but endangering himself and the only man in the world who thought anything of him other than 'monster'. He knocked twice, quick and hard, and stood back, clasping his hands together in front of himself.

The door creaked open slowly, hesitantly, and as he stared into the dark trying to adjust his eyes to the indoor gloom, Michael was surprised by the face that greeted him. It was not that of the old man he had been suspecting; the old man with all the scars and burns from years of chasing somebody else's problems. The face was that of a woman, not an old woman, but not really a young woman either. Somebody teetering on the fence of her 29th birthday by the looks of it, maybe going on 30, and he suddenly felt exposed, awkward, and afraid with the blood and the grime on his face caked thick. He took another small step backward.

"Can I help you?" she asked quietly, not undoing the chain that kept the door from opening fully. Her voice was that of a frightened mother who was expecting the devil to come take her first born child. He tried to smile at her but couldn't manage it. All he could think of was her fear, a haze of it surrounded her completely and totally, and he sniffed loudly as his lips parted, trying to speak but not really finding the words. He could break that chain in a moment, he knew he could, and his hands involuntarily clenched into fists, he took a deep raspy breath, his lungs fighting in protest, and finally, the words came.

"I... um... I'm looking for a doctor... does he live here?" He sounded like a serial killer. Like he'd try anything to get her to let him in, and he almost wanted to laugh, and his face didn't bother to protest that time. He smirked a little, and she visibly relaxed.

"Are you one of his patients?" she spoke with a quiet authority like she was the doctor's care taker or perhaps his secretary.

Michael's smirk didn't falter as he nodded. "Sort of, I'm... one of his recovered... patients..." he stumbled on his words, not sure if she would know. If he should lie.

She stared at him for a moment like the pathetic psycho she thought he was, and his fists clenched a bit tighter, his nails digging into his dirty palms hard. "I'll go get him."

The air was steadily growing colder, and she shut the door in his face to go and get the good Doctor. A small shiver ran down his spine as he waited ever patiently, wanting nothing more than a place where the wind would stop biting at his exposed skin. The door opened once more.

"Michael..." the old man was hesitant at first, not undoing the chain before opening the door.

Michael looked down at him and felt his chest tighten once more like it did when he'd seen the girls. Something was wrong, and he felt very much at fault. The doctor closed the door only to open it a moment later with the chain undone.

"I'm... I need...somethi-"

"I know what you need, Michael." he spoke in a harsh whisper, the one he always spoke in, and the bit of white stubble growing on his chin twitched with his words. "You can't have it here. You can't come in here."

"Please... you're the only person who can help me, I've done something bad..."

Loomis stared at him, a face that was not one of pity- no, they were long past that. It was a face of curiosity. A face found on a man who was looking at the biggest mystery of his career. The boy who was too lost in the darkness to find his way out again.

"Come on then," he didn't move out of the way to allow Michael entrance, and he looked down at his shoes as if biting back into the forbidden fruit that he'd sworn himself off of. "But stay where I can see you. Mary, go down to the basement and set up a bed for our guest, then go to your room." he didn't bother turning around to talk to the woman, he knew she was standing only a short ways behind him just in the hallway.

She peered out momentarily, eyeing the situation with stern and questioning eyes, and Michael looked at her only briefly before stuffing his still clenched fists into his pockets awkwardly. She disappeared and the doctor finally, reluctantly moved aside to allow Michael into his home once again.

"You know the rules in my house, you will respect those rules as always or you will be sent back to the sanitarium, or better yet, maybe even prison. I take no pity on evil, Michael. None at all." he spoke without turning his back, and Michael walked behind him slowly, soundlessly, carefully as he always did, taking in his surroundings. Nothing had changed.

"Thank you for taking me in again Doctor, I didn't know what else to do..."

"Yes... come with me now, you can have a shower and I'll bandage you up; that cut on your head looks like a nasty one," Michael's hand lifted almost subconsciously to his forehead and he felt for the first time an open wound that stung to the touch, all at once he was plagued with a headache like he'd never felt, and his sleepless night on the forest floor caught up with him.

"I don't know how you made it all the way here since I'm assuming you were in Haddonfield last night..." he trailed off, and the younger man pointedly avoided looking him in the eye as the older pulled towels out of the closet in the hallway. "We'll talk about that later, but for now... get yourself cleaned up."

Michael nodded, taking the towels, thinking only momentarily about the woman who was setting up a bed for him in the basement. Who was she, and what was she doing staying with Dr. Loomis? The same Dr. Loomis who'd told Michael time and time again that he was like him. That he had no family to call his own. That he was alone. He entered the bathroom and avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he set the towels on the counter.

"Oh, and Michael..." he turned and looked out the bathroom door into the wise blue eyes of his old Doctor. "... Don't even think about that girl downstairs. You forget you ever saw her." he warned. And Michael nodded, closing the wooden door between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sitting on a wooden chair is no monumental moment in anybody's life.

Wincing inaudibly while an old man roughly stitches a slice in your shoulder that you didn't even know you had isn't either.

But for Michael, the chair, the old man, the stitches, hell, even the ripped up linoleum flooring... these were all things that served as monuments in his life, and if he could have a home, if he could find a place to settle down, he'd privately decided long ago that he wanted it to be just like this. This, the type of place where a psycho killer could come for a day off after butchering a whole family of innocent people for no real particular reason.

He shut his eyes and stared at the darkness behind them, the darkness that had so long ago stared back into him and eaten him up almost entirely. He opened them again only half afraid that it would finish the job, and there before him was the woman who was supposed to be locked in her room.

"Doctor, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be leaving now... like you asked," she added the last bit with an almost unnoticed glance down at Michael, seated in the wooden chair in the middle of the linoleum floored kitchen, and he looked away hastily.

"Thank you, Mary. I'll be seeing you," he nodded at her with a good natured smile, and she smiled back, giving him a small wave before once more glancing down at Michael, the smile still lingering on her lips. And then she was gone.

"I don't know what you did to yourself here but your all stitched up," Loomis spoke up only a few moments later, and Michael reached back and felt his stitches curiously.

"You're not going to want to be stretching like that all that often, Michael. You could rip them loose and then we'll have to do them all over again," Loomis explained gingerly as he cleaned the wound once more and placed a large bandage over it.

He sat down on the identical wooden chair across from Michael's, and stared at the younger man curiously. Michael didn't notice as he picked up his dirty, discarded black shirt and pulled it on over his head.

"You'd think we'd just keep some clothes here for you since you always wind up wearing your grimy old ones every time you come here," Loomis mumbled more to himself than to Michael, and they stared at one another calmly; one feeling frankly scrutinized, the other feeling rather worried.

"Are you going to talk about it, or should I just start asking questions?" Loomis asked, and Michael shrugged.

With a sigh, the interrogation began. "When did you get back to Haddonfield?"

Michael looked out the window at the trees that sprinkled the doctor's rather large back yard, thinking back to when he'd come 'home', as it were. "A few days ago... maybe a week. I've been here since before Halloween," he explained quietly.

"Did you come back here with any clear intention? Any... plans?"

"No."

"You just thought you'd take a nice trip to the place where you go to do bad things? With that thought in mind, you didn't question weather or not that would be good for your recovery?" Loomis asked slowly, carefully. He'd learned to be careful with Michael over the course of their 24 year relationship. Patient and therapist, no two people are really closer than that.

"It wasn't working..."

"What wasn't working?"

"Everything... I killed three people before I even got to Haddonfield, for no reason, and I only really remember one of them. Jeff."

"... Was Jeff a friend?"

"Why do you ask things like that?" Michael looked away, frustrated. "'Was Jeff a friend' - no, he wasn't a friend. Do I have any friends, Loomis? Is that even possible?" Michael was upset, his face reddened a bit, and he sat there looking down at his lap, doubting himself and feeling foolish for attempting to talk.

"Michael, you've been gone from here for five years. I don't know what you've been doing or who you've been with, I didn't even know you were back until you showed up at my front door today, you could've made a full turn around and I would have no idea despite all that I know about you. Fill me in, please. You're safe here, it's only you and I."

Michael looked at him, this man who he'd come to over the years for help, for refuge... the man who'd come to him over the years to receive nothing but scars and burns and pain... he looked away, nearly ashamed. He thought of the faces of his victims, the ones he could remember, and he remembered fondly what it felt like to release the beast with his first kill. With Judy...

"I've been in Iowa for a long time..." he began tiredly, his older sister's face still fresh in his mind. "But I haven't been doing any better. I black out and wake up covered in blood... sleeping in abandoned houses, I haven't really had any people in my life that didn't end up dying there, so... that should answer your questions. Blanks filled in, right? I don't know how many and I don't know why I decided to come back here, but I'm here now, and nothing's changed... and I don't think I can do this much longer." his head ached and throbbed, and he wished he could stand up and get himself a glass of water, but that was against the rules. This wasn't his home, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

The last sentence struck Loomis, and while Michael stared around the room searching for nothing in particular, the old man's eyes brightened a bit. Was there remorse in Michael's voice? There couldn't be... could there?

"What?" Michael snapped as the old man lit up like a pumpkin.

"What can't you do much longer, Michael? Explain, I'd like to understand."

"This, Loomis! I'm a monster to those people, and the problem is that I _like_ being a monster. It wouldn't be a problem to me if you hadn't _told_ me it was, you know? What's wrong in my head that I don't know that it's _wrong_ to be a monster?" he looked away, ashamed and exposed, thinking still of his sister, delicately brushing her hair, unaware of what he was going to do to her, unafraid of the monsters outside because she was safe in her own room, he let out a small chuckle.

"There's nothing wrong, Michael," Loomis replied after a moment. "You feel remorse, you feel. That's _new_, that's progress! Don't you see!"

His fist hit the table in a bout of rage and Michael stood up angrily, all 6 feet four inches of him towered over the small doctor intimidatingly. "It's not progress! I kill people, Loomis! I murder people, _murder_! Cold blooded homicide, and _I. LIKE. IT!_ There is nothing inside of me, nothing about myself that could make it okay! Why don't you see that?"

Loomis stood up as well, shaky on his bad knee but up nonetheless and he looked up from his own five feet seven inches into the dark eyes of his oldest patient, "Why don't I see that you think you're an irredeemable beast of a man who will never amount to anything but a serial killer? Why don't I see that you've given up all hope in yourself? I DO see that, Michael! I see that very clearly, now. But that's not all you are! If that was all you were, you wouldn't be here in my kitchen today, standing in the same spot you've returned to time and time again for the entirety of your adult life, begging for me to call you a lost cause... to send you away. You are a human being, despite the horrors that you've committed, and if it's the last thing I do I will get you to see that. You don't belong in the sanitarium despite the darkness inside of you. Your darkness is not a mental disorder! It's a product of something much, much worse... and you will never know what that thing is if you're locked away in a padded being beaten on by over-juiced orderlies who think it's their right to hurt you!" he paused, and Michael stared at him, his chest rising and falling visibly with every breath. "They might not see it, the world out there. They might know you for what you've done in your past, but I know you for who you are beneath all of that. Beneath the impulses and the rage, and the monster you think has consumed you. You aren't a lost cause, and deep down you know that. You've always known that. You may be thirty years old, but I'm a lot older than that... and I've seen recoveries, full one hundred percent recoveries from people who were verging on suicide. People who'd done things that even you couldn't imagine. I've seen the darkness, and it's seen me. You will know a life, and you will know happiness one day. I promise you that, Michael. But you have to work with me, here. A little bit. And you can't just sneak off in the night like you did last time, only to come back five years later dug even deeper into a hole of your own making!"

The old man kept standing despite being out of breath at his speech, and though it was private to him, his hands were shaking with the fear that this man before him wasn't what he thought. Not a doubt, but a general fear that he'd snap, and he looked him in the eye nonetheless; a chance being taken with his life, his faith put in the hands of this 'monster'.

Michael sat back down, heavy on the chair, dwarfing it beneath his muscular frame, and he looked up at Dr. Samuel Loomis, standing there before him small and powerful, and he felt for a moment, if only a moment, that there was truth in the old man's words. That he would make it out of this, and he would be okay... and he stood up once more, the chair falling back behind him, and he looked down at the small man with a red face of quiet inexorable rage, and he exited the kitchen a storm brewing in his chest, and fire burning through his veins.

Loomis heard the basement door slam loud enough that he assumed it was broken; snapped clean in half for sure. He made his way as quickly as possible, limping into the hallway and over to the doorway and he stood and listened, his hand poised over the outside deadbolt, ready to lock it and flee if Michael should try to come back for him.

After a few moments spent listening to the sounds of violence filtering up the stairs like a tornado blowing through the basement alone, the old man leaned against the opposite wall and stared at the wooden basement door with his hand over his racing heart and he caught his breath as it powered through his lungs.

Michael Myers couldn't live with himself anymore, not alone, not the way he had been... and that thought alone put a flicker of hope in the mind of a man who thought long ago that there just might not be anymore of it. He smiled a bit as something glass broke against the door, and he wondered only briefly if this was it. If this time, things would change enough that somewhere in the darkness, he'd be able to pull fourth the little boy who'd gotten lost down there so, so long ago.


	3. Chapter 3

******Author's Note: Sorry things are moving so slow! It's just difficult because he's not exactly the type to find his 'inner light' and suddenly enjoy cuddling and womanizing and being cute, but things will pick up soon! :) **

**Chapter 3**

He climbed the stairs slowly, one by one, counting his steps as he did so. One, two, three, four... they creaked under his weight, and he glanced down at his abandoned bed wondering if it was appropriate to leave it unmade or not.

Sun streamed under the basement door as he hiked up the last four steps, and he paused before opening the door, listening intently to the voice he was sure he was imagining.

"I know you said I shouldn't come, but I just had to ask you, I couldn't sleep a wink last night and I won't tonight without knowing..." the shushed voice was impossibly familiar, his heart leapt into his throat, and his vision grew dark. He stood perfectly still, his hand still poised over the doorknob.

"It's not safe for you here, my dear. Telling you what you already know is not going to make it any better for you, you still can't see him..." Loomis responded equally shushed.

"So it is him..." she breathed, and Michael had heard enough. It wasn't possible, and he shook his head clear before turning the knob and exiting the basement. The place was deadly silent, and he walked slowly into the kitchen feeling for the first time the knife resting in his hand, a long kitchen knife with a dark wooden handle, he rounded the corner and his chest clenched tightly.

She looked not a day older than he remembered her being. Her hair was pulled back in two clips off of her face, and her dress was the floral print green one she'd chosen for her high school picture day. Loomis looked at him with a face of concern, and he sat down on one of his wooden kitchen chairs.

She turned then, completely turned, and as she faced him her smile faltered.

"Michael, I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" she spoke, but her voice sounded far, far away. He gripped the knife harder, his knuckles went white against the strain. "How have you been? It's okay, I'm not angry with you!"

He looked into his younger sister's eyes, the eyes that matched his own, and he felt the knots in his chest loosen up, and the knife clattered to the floor with a loud metallic sound, but it faded into the background, unnoticed.

"Laurie..." her name sounded foreign, something he'd not spoken for years, and she smiled at him her award winning smile with tears in her eyes, and she nodded.

"It's me! I'm back!" she laughed, a full fledged laugh, and then she faded away. Gone like a puff of smoke, she vanished, and he bowed his head in sadness.

The basement was dark when he woke up.

Thinking of her had never been easy, not as easy as it was to think of Judy anyway, and Michael sat up on the makeshift cot Mary had prepared for him, and he placed his head in his hands. Laurie, his baby sister. The only one who didn't deserve what he'd done to her, and the only one who'd almost gotten away. Laurie.

He placed his feet on the cold concrete floor and stood up, surveying the dark room as best he could to find a clear path to the stairs in the rubble from the previous night's rampage.

There was no sun streaming under the door, and there was no voice out in the hall or the kitchen. It was just him and the first light of day as he stared out the window waiting for Loomis to arise.

Time passed in the cold kitchen quickly, as it always seemed to do when the sun rose up over the tall elm trees in the doctor's yard, and Michael crossed his arms over his broad chest as he turned away from the scene.

"Sleep well?" the voice was startling, and he jumped a tiny bit as he spotted her there, standing next to the refrigerator. "Sorry if I scared you, I'm just here to give Sam his medication," she laughed, a short, light sound that filled the room, and Michael just stared.

"I don't know if we were properly introduced, I'm MaryAnne... Sam's nurse."

Michael still stared, not feeling self conscious exactly, but more so confused. Did she not know what we was? Did he not tell her to stay away for a while?

"You're Michael, right? Michael Myers?" she pressed, stepping forward a bit, and he unconsciously took a step back, not trusting himself or her for that matter, and he took the hint graciously.

"I'm... I'm sorry, I just didn't want you to think me rude, we didn't get off to a great start yesterday!" she chuckled, and her eyes lit up a bit, the color of honey.

"It's alright." he answered shortly, and he turned back to the window wondering why on Earth she was speaking to him.

"I'll just go tend to Sam then. I'll be seeing you," she waited a moment before leaving the room as if to give him a chance to say goodbye. And as soon as she left, he relaxed, dropping down onto the wooden chair heavily.

The morning was well on it's way by the time Sam Loomis was ready to start his day. He'd taken his pills, he's washed up a bit, and he'd dressed, and he felt rather grateful to a young woman he'd hired to help him with those things for sticking around despite the grave danger she put herself in. And that is why he didn't scream for her to leave, beg for her to stay away, and pray all morning that she not return for fear of her horrible demise. She was doing her job, and he thanked her, handing her a hundred dollar bill before warning her, like he knew he had to do.

"Thank you for coming, Mary... but you really shouldn't have. He's not just one of my patients, and frankly, he's not really in recovery," he stared into her eyes, wise beyond their years and she chuckled as she helped him out of bed.

"I know who he is, Sam. I think I'd be the worst medical student ever to come from Illinois if I didn't know who he was, but he seems okay for now, doesn't he? I mean, you're letting him live here with you, so you've got to have some faith in him!"

"I have faith that he won't hurt me, but even that faith is put to the test on occasion, _has _been put to the test. He's a mental patient, and a severely risky one at that, my dear. You can't put these things on faith alone. I've known Michael Myers for his entire life, and he's put me through some of the worst experiences I've ever been through, I give him chance after chance because I feel a connection to him that goes deeper than doctor and patient, do you understand? He's the closest thing I have to a son, and the worst thing that's ever truly happened to me at the same time, and thusly, I have to protect him as best I can. To keep him from innocent people like you, and because when it comes down to it, I simply can't turn him away." he smiled his wise old man's smile, and Mary opened his bedroom door for him.

"You have a good heart, Dr. Loomis."

His smile didn't falter as he nodded. "Thank you, Mary. But sometimes that's not the best thing for a man in my profession to have." he chuckled as she led the way out into the living room.

"I'll be having my breakfast in the kitchen today, dear. And I'll not be needing you anymore! You can head on home!" he told her, eyeing the large man who sat at his kitchen table curiously.

"Michael, have you had a good morning?" he asked, and the man shrugged before turning and casting a wary glance over the doctor's shoulders.

"Mary will be leaving in just a few moments," Loomis added, and he made to head toward the oven but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, I would really feel better if you just let me cook you up something, just in the mornings while you're still waking up. Not because you left the stove on that time, but because I want to, okay?" she chose her words carefully, and Michael turned in his seat and looked at her where she stood, paused behind his chair with her hand on the old doctor's shoulder.

His breathed evenly but his thoughts still raced; buzzing around his head were things he wanted to think, and things he knew he positively couldn't allow himself to think. Things like how nicely her mouth was shaped, and things like how easy it would be to kill them both where they stood, and they'd have no idea what even happened. His fists clenched and he breathed in deeply, holding it for 5 seconds and then breathing out through his nose as he turned around in his chair and stared at the table.

"Well? What do you say?" she asked, interrupting the old man's long train of thought, and he looked up at her with eyes that pleaded with her to take her leave. "Hmm?" she pressed once more, and he shook his head quietly.

"You can pour me a bowl of cereal, but then you will leave. Michael and I have work to do today that you wouldn't be interested in, and I'd like for us both to be able to concentrate. You're far too beautiful to hang around a couple of working men all day, we'd never get anything done! Isn't that right, Michael?" he chuckled and as he walked to his own chair and sat down with a smile on his face.

They both looked at Michael as if for confirmation as Mary laughed quietly to herself and Loomis wondered what on Earth he was allowing her to stay for.

Michael's thoughts slowed as he looked into her eyes, and he felt himself smile a quick tiny bit, which was enough to send her on her way to the cupboard to pour the old man some cheerios.

"Would you like anything, dear?" she asked over her shoulder, and Michael shook his head briefly before realizing she couldn't see him.

"I'm okay," he muttered quietly, his eyes still watching her as she made her way busily around the room, gathering the necessary breakfast items. "Thank you," he added for good measure, and she turned back and smiled at him and somewhere in the dark recesses of his body, a door opened, and something ran out. It was a something he didn't notice at first, but it grew with time into a warrior so fierce, that even the darkness inside of him had to fight to keep it's rightful place.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note:**** Hey guys! I really appreciate the reviews, thanks a bunch! Here's the update, it's not what I'd originally planned, but it's what I've decided to go with. I hope you like it, and the next one should be up sometime before Thursday. :D**

**Chapter 4**

The day moved slow once Mary had left, but the sun was hot, and the yard needed raking, and there was no one better for the job than the fit young man in need of a distraction.

His long sleeve shirt kept out the breeze well enough, but it did nothing against the unseasonably warm rays hitting his back, and his face glazed with sweat as he packed, for the hundredth time that day, a large pile of leaves into a black plastic bag.

Michael's head swam with thoughts of her the entire time he raked. He thought about her when he'd finished, and he thought about her as he cleaned up. And from the window in the kitchen the old doctor stood watching him, thinking of how curious the younger man had become in the years that he'd known him.

From a child who would cry himself to sleep, act out in the hospital and steal plastic knives to threaten other children with, to a young man who showed promise as well as dark intentions, to an adult who'd simply given in, and now there he was. A grown man who seemed, Loomis supposed, to be looking for a way out of himself. A way away from the darkness.

He shuffled away from the window, limping across the kitchen and down the hall to his office, the fourth and last door down that way, and he slipped inside quietly and sat down at his desk.

A folder was open there, waiting for him just as he knew it would be, and he stared at the frontmost page with a hand rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

Patient Name: Michael Myers

Age: Twenty one

The diagnosis was left empty, as it had been and probably always would be, and Sam Loomis looked at it with a pain beginning to grow in his head. He flipped the page and began reading his own notes as he had time and time again, waiting for something he didn't see before to jump out at him.

_I worry that he is a hopeless case by his own choosing. His catatonia is a conscious act, he is waiting for something or someone that only he knows, and I worry that he will let that overtake him._

_The boy is afraid, very visibly. He knows what he has done, and deep down he feels regret for it, but he won't stop, can't stop (?) until he gets the rest of them. _

_He keeps talking about his younger sister. He is worried for her, but he requires a strong sedative almost every time he speaks of her. I don't know what their relationship consisted of, but I assume it was better than the abuse he took from his elder sibling, the first victim, Judith Myers. _

_Michael is afraid, he won't tell me why. _

The notes went on for pages, the ones Loomis had salvaged from the wreck that became his office anyway. The twenty one year old Michael insisted that the doctor knew where his sister was, and systematically destroyed the man's office in a fury, killed two nurses, and fled the scene.

Loomis heard footsteps, heavy and measured, and he froze, listening as they approached the door. He turned his back quickly, and stopped as the chair squeaked beneath his weight, but the steps passed by the door, and a moment later he heard the bathroom door close. He returned to his notes.

He didn't see Michael for sixteen months after his disappearance from the sanitarium. The man was presumed dead, but his doctor of course knew better. He turned passed his notes on the patient and found a map he'd used to mark the places that he had very obviously been in his time MIA.

A red dot was placed over Smith's Grove Sanitarium, and Loomis brushed over it lightly with the tip of his finger remembering only briefly his employment in those halls.

A second red dot was placed over the Myers residence, his finger brushed over that lightly, remembering the body of the young girls found there, Laurie, her best friend Annie, a schoolmate who's name slipped his mind... they never stood a chance against Michael, and he shook his head.

The last two dots were placed over a hardware store in Haddonfield where a mysterious burglary had taken place. Two knives had been stolen, but nothing more. And the police were baffled, but Loomis knew better. Finally, a dot over the police station itself, where one of the knives ended up stuck into the receptionists desk, and the other ended up stuck into her heart. Nobody knew why, but of course, always in the background, Loomis knew perfectly. Michael had found his parents, and it was their turn to be wiped out.

Remembering hurt, and Sam Loomis looked back with a careful eye, watching his own every move to be sure that he hadn't let Michael get out on purpose. The years had brought them closer than Michael was with anybody, and still he didn't know the whole story, he felt-

The water shut off, and immediately afterward he heard a woman scream. A woman who he was sure he'd told to leave, and stay away. A loud band ended her screaming abruptly, and then there was nothing more, nothing but sickening, horrible, silence.

Loomis stood up on his unsteady feet and made his way quickly to the office door, ripping it open and stepping out into the hallway without a weapon to protect himself. There were no sounds, the bathroom was silent, there was no woman to be seen, and then he saw it. A tiny red blood drop midway down the hall, his heart seemed to sink and speed up all at once, and he cautiously made his way to the kitchen.

"Michael?" he asked before rounding the corner as wide as he possibly could.

There was no answer, and the kitchen looked empty but he couldn't see all the way in. He'd have to get closer, and as he inched, he heard heavy breathing. Not so much panting as just the heavy breath of somebody struggling.

"Hello?" he asked, and he saw movement out in the yard. He stepped all the way into the kitchen just as Michael came walking in through the back door, sweat soaked and obviously not fresh out of the shower. At the same moment, they both turned and looked down at the kitchen floor where a frankly battered and bruised looking MaryAnne sat clutching her arm, a large gash running from elbow to wrist, and she looked up at them in return, a black eye visibly forming on her already dirty face.

Loomis stood wondering what he should do as tears streamed from her eyes nonstop, and she looked up at him helplessly and he turned to Michael, who's lips parted briefly as he stared back before turning back to Mary.

"Are you alright?" he asked, and she let out a small cry, and with calm movements he took off the thick yard gloves he was wearing, and he made his way into the kitchen.

"Michael I-" Loomis started, but the younger man held out a hand.

"Come on, sit on the chair and we can clean up your face..." he held out a hand to her, and she grabbed it with hers not wounded, and he helped her up to the chair.

Loomis watched in amazement as the same man who'd just been plaguing his memory stood before him and helped a woman in need, a woman who he soon realized would need stitches. He snapped out of his thoughts and looked up to see both Michael and Mary looking at him with wide eyes.

"... Right..." he said, and he quickly fled to his office to gather supplies.

Michael grabbed a few paper towels and held them under some warm water before squeezing them out and pressing them lightly to the wound over Mary's left eyebrow. She winced in pain and they both pulled back at the same moment, staring momentarily into one another's eyes, his wary, hers filled with tears.

She leaned back in and allowed him to clean some more blood away while they waited for the doctor to come back into the room.

"I'm sorry..." Michael murmured almost as if he was speaking to himself, and she leaned back once more, looking up at him and feeling pathetic as she sniffled briefly and tried to ignore the searing pain in her arm.

"Why are you sorry, dear?" she asked quietly, her voice coming out a bit more broken than anticipated, and he looked down at her and pulled back from the wound in her head.

"I'm sorry that you're hurt..." he replied, and he stood up and made room as Dr. Loomis hurried back into the room, ready to stitch her arm up as quick as he could.

"Michael, I need you to stay here to make sure she doesn't pass out, this is a little difficult to do with such a large wound, but if we don't do it now she could lose too much blood, and we don't want that..." Loomis trailed off, thinking of how entirely unqualified he was to stitch somebody's arm up in a case like this, and Michael stood by his side, wondering what exactly he was meant to do.

He looked down past the doctor's shoulder, and spotted Mary's free hand lying in her lap, and he squatted down next to her chair and took it into his own, holding it between both his hands.

She looked over at him, and he felt sick in his heart, not the sickness that so often plagued him when he looked at other's suffering, but a new sickness, or rather, an old sickness. One that'd disappeared long ago, and he closed his eyes and held his hands against his chest, her hand rather cold between his own.

_Michael, I'm scared... _

_It's okay, Laurie. I promise. Just stay here, I'll be right back._

_A kiss placed on his little sister's forehead to calm her nerves. He turned to the bedroom door and went out into the hallway slowly, the yelling from downstairs not quite ending but not quite still going either. Sporadic bursts of rage swam up the stairs and into his ear drums, and he crouched on the balcony, looking down into the hall below. _

_I'll do whatever I please, I am seventeen years old, you can't honestly believe that you have any say over what I do! _

_She was good at yelling, and he tried not to notice his mothers face as she sat there on the floor, bruised and turned away from the scene before her, wet with tears. _

_His father stood firmly planted in front of the door, which somebody was banging on, angrily, wildly as if they were trying to claw their way inside. _

_You're not leaving this house, especially not with that boy. His parents ought to be ashamed of him with what he's done to the young girls in this town! Don't think we don't know! _

_His father's voice boomed, loud enough that Michael wondered how it didn't shake the house, and while he wondered this, crouched down to avoid being seen, he didn't notice that his younger sister had come out of her room until she was on the stairs, already noticed. It was already too late. _

_With a look that Michael wasn't yet familiar with, his older sister took one look at his younger one and attacked, simply and plainly. She pulled the younger girl down the stairs, yelling at her, screaming at her and hitting her with both ring covered fists. Laurie was screaming and crying for anybody who would help her, and while their Father attempted to pull Judy off of the small child's form, his Mother still sat in the corner, absent and blocking it all out. _

_Mom! Mom help her! Please! Don't do this! Mom! _

_She didn't hear him - wouldn't even blink. _

_JUDY STOP! _

_She wouldn't listen. He shook from head to toe as their Dad got their sister by the hair, pulling her out into the middle of the hall. Laurie sat up with enough blood and tears on her face to coat it almost entirely, and she ran to him, her hair matted and ripped out, claw marks coated her arms, and the front door opened. _

_A fight ensued, a three way fight between sister, sister's boyfriend, and lone father. _

_The police came later to take him away, and Michael watched from the stairs as the only one who could protect them from her was taken away. He still shook from head to toe, no tears coating his face, holding his sister as she slept soundly in his arms. His ten year old arms. _

"That's about it, I think... you did extremely well, Mary. But it's best now if you rest. I'll take you to my room and get you situated and we can talk about it later if you want, okay?" Loomis spoke softly, like she was going to break if his voice raised even slightly. Michael looked down at the wound and sure enough it was stitched up; he'd zoned out for all of it. He felt a soft tug on his hand, and looked down only to realize that he still held hers inside his own, and he looked up into her eyes only to see her smiling a small, barely there smile.

"Thank you, Michael..." she whispered, and he nodded, reluctantly letting go of her hand, thinking of his sister sleeping in his arms, thinking of his sister with the blood on her body, the blood on the floor, the blood on his hands.

He made to stand up but her hand reached out once more and she held him there only long enough to place a small kiss on his cheek, and then she was gone. Unsteadily heading to the doctor's bedroom, a limp in her step identical to his own.

Looking down at his hands then, Michael wasn't surprised to see a bit of her blood left there, sticky now but undoubtedly hers, and he wiped it on his pant leg. An anger surged through him like no other, and he quickly and quietly made his way out of the kitchen, and right out the front door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews again, guys! They're extremely helpful when I can't work up any motivation to write :) This chapter is a bit of filler before the next big thing happens, a bit of insight into Michael's thought process and all that jazz. I hope you like it, I feel it could go either way. Until next time! **

**Chapter 5**

Of course he didn't know who did it; he didn't even know what'd happened. The sun set over the horizon as Michael walked with his hands deep in his pockets, his face to the ground, anonymous without his mask, left alone to his thoughts and his horrors.

Nobody looked at him now, as he crossed the border back into Haddonfield, and he reminisced as best he could of his childhood as he did so, thinking back to the first time he'd ever consciously laid eyes on that old welcome sign. The day they were taking him away.

The cult of thorn were nothing but a brutal memory and an awful catalyst to him now, and he fingered the tattoo on his wrist as he so often did, wishing it away once again, as if wishing could cure him of his monster's disease.

They'd made him a demon against his will; tricked him into doing the things he did by playing off of his pre existing illnesses. He was stupid, and if he knew then what he knew now, he wondered if he'd have gone with them anyway.

It wasn't a long walk from the edge of town back to his house, being that he was able to take the main roads this time rather than heading out through the bordering woods. He turned familiar corners and nodded in the general direction of any man or woman who stared at him curiously, and though his fists remained clenched in frustration and power, he knew that nobody would die tonight. Or at least, he promised himself that.

The house at 45 Lampkin Lane was one that he'd often thought of, and less often returned to. And he rounded the corner and passed the familiar houses, realizing only briefly how dangerous this was.

And then he was there.

People had put up flowers in remembrance of the family that dared to live there only a few short days before, and Michael felt the familiar pull in his chest that urged him forward as he stood solidly at the end of the walkway. There was no reason for their deaths, they weren't part of the sacrifice, but that was, in fact, his disease. His inability to stop quarantined him from a normal life, and he cursed the thorn, and Dr. Wynn, and himself for being so naive.

The modest white victorian stared at him, beckoning him forward. Somebody had even put on the porch light. He looked over both shoulders and found the neighborhood to be empty. He was alone, for the most part, at least he was unseen, and he quickly and quietly made his way around the back and through the basement doors. The basement that had so often seen his horrors.

Up the stairs to the kitchen, and then up the stairs to the second floor, past the bloodstains that hadn't completely been removed from the carpet, and then a quick pull up into the attic door in the ceiling, and he was there. The room that had kept him safe for what seemed like the only time in his life when he had been truly vulnerable, and he sat there in the darkness on the plywood flooring with his hands clasped around the back of his head, which hung sadly between his knees.

The things he'd done in this house were monstrous. Judy was the first, but she's deserved it. Every stab she'd earned rightfully by hurting him, hurting _them_, by holding her own darkness in a mighty place of respect. She got what she needed, and if that was the only good thing he ever did for the world, that was okay with him. Because what lived inside of her was significantly more evil than what lived inside of him, and he frowned there in the attic, thinking of what could've been, what he'd stopped, and in turn, what he'd created.

The sound of a door closing below him quickened his pulse, and he laid down flat on the plywood so he could watch over the second floor inconspicuously. Somebody was climbing the stairs one at a time, and the light of a flash light appeared before he did. A man not in uniform, but in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Michael watched curiously.

He looked quickly into each of the bedrooms before stopping just below the attic opening. Michael shied away slowly back into the shadows, just to be safe, and he listened intently.

"I saw you come in..." the man said slowly. And Michael's heart threatened to burst in his chest, he closed his eyes.

"I just wanted to tell you... I don't know who you are... but you're wrong. There's nothing to find here, Halloween is over. He's not coming back."

Michael glanced once again over the side of the opening and looked down to see the man standing there, awkwardly. His shaggy hair hung loose around his face, and he stared down at the blood spatter on the floor. "He took them all, and now he's gone, and you're here to try and find some clues, but you won't find any. Janie, her family, her baby brother... they're all dead. So you'd better just get out of here before I have to call the police and tell them we've got another weirdo..." the man trailed off, his voice dulling down a bit at the mention of Janie's name.

"And if you're curious who I am..." he paused, Michael watched as he shifted uncomfortably there. And then with a small chuckle, the man flicked off the flashlight and ran his hand through his hair, messing it even more. "Just get out of here, man. This house doesn't need any more trouble." And with that, the talkative stranger was gone.

Michael sat in the attic for a good fifteen minutes after the man left, and he wondered who he was, and what his business was protecting the house of horrors. He wasn't so much a man as a boy, with his flash light. Nothing but a boy scout, and Michael climbed down onto the second floor landing quietly, almost wanting to chuckle himself. And then he thought once more of Mary, and it was as if the man boy had never shown up.

Mary with her honey colored eyes and her fragile body. He rubbed his hands together as he stood there, unconsciously on top of the now orange blood stains, wondering if the roughness of his skin hurt her soft hands or not. She was so small and insignificant, and he smiled a diminutive smile as he thought of her, and the spot where her lips touched his cheek burned up. A creak sounded only feet from him, and he looked up, his eyes meeting those of the shaggy haired stranger. If his heart threatened to burst before, there was no question about it now. His face grew dark.

"Who are you?" he asked, and Michael simply stared, his voice leaving him completely as he thought of a way out. "You can't avoid it now, you have to tell me or I'll call the police..."

On the stairs he was setting himself up to be the next horror. One tiny push and he'd go tumbling to his death, and Michael wouldn't leave so much as a finger print.

"You're not going to answer me, huh? Well, that's too bad. I guess I'll just have to call them then," he pulled out a small black cell phone, and in that moment sealed his own fate. Michael stepped forward, one small step that brought him face to face with the man/boy who looked up close to be somewhere around nineteen or twenty. Startled, he attempted to step down a stair, but slipped, and as he dropped both his phone and his flash light, Michael grabbed the front of his black t-shirt, holding him steady.

"Who are you?" Michael asked, turning the question back onto him. The smaller man looked at him with eyes both afraid and grateful.

"My name is Andy... I dated Jane... who the hell-"

Michael let him go, and he fell backwards a bit before catching himself on the railing. Michael stared down at him from the same spot he'd stared down at his little sister. Andy was afraid, and he made to stand up but Michael reached out and grabbed him, his eyes wide at his own strength as he picked the kid up.

"You're him aren't you! You're Michael Myers! Please, I won't tell I-" he'd heard enough. With the same tiny offhanded push that he'd envisioned only minutes before, he let the boy go tumbling backwards down the staircase, and with a sickening crack, he landed just before the front door, his ankle broken beneath him, and yet still alive. He screamed, and Michael hurried down the stairs, grabbing both the flashlight and the cell phone on his way and stuffing them into his pockets.

He reached his whimpering victim and picked him up, holding him in his arms like a child, but with no such innocent intentions. He made his way to the kitchen and dropped Andy down on the table, and he landed with a cry, snot leaking from his nose now as he tried with all his might not to sob. The knife board that he'd taken the last weapon from was still displayed on the counter, and he pulled forth from it a bread knife with small pointed ridges along the edge.

"Don't, please, I-" he begged for his life as Michael came back into his view, but he was silenced as the blade slid across his throat, his voice being replaced with nothing more than a few reptilian gurgling noises before stopping completely.

Surveying his work, Michael suddenly felt exposed, without a mask, he was a face, recognizable and wide open. He held the knife in his hand and quickly made his way down into the basement, leaving the boy's body there on the table. From the basement he headed up the small staircase and back out into the yard, and from the yard, he made his way right back into the woods feeling worthless, disgusting, and if even possible, just as angry as he was when he'd first shown up.

The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he pulled it out, flipped it open, and cracked it clean in half before dumping it there on the forest floor. The flash light landed only a few feet later, but the knife he held onto until he made it back to the lake he'd been to only days before. The risks he'd taken for absolutely no justifiable reason made him feel stupid, weak, and feeble. He was stronger than an unnecessary trip back home, back down memory lane, and he felt ridiculous for thinking that such a human luxury should be available to him. He didn't stop at the lake long after he'd tossed the knife into the middle of it, and instead he made his way out the east end of the woods, leaving them on a side road that would take him back to the town border.

His head pounded, but his heart was calm. He felt stupid, but at the same time, horrifyingly satisfied. He feared nothing and everything all at once, and still the main thought in his head was of Mary.

What would she think of him now?


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: ****Sorry it took so long to get this written, I've been busy slacking off and watching Sherlock! I have a rough outline of what's going to happen from here on out, so hopefully things will move more smoothly! Thanks for the reviews, and I hope you like it! :) **

**Chapter 6**

Days has passed since the last kill, and things had been steadily moving along. Presently Michael stretched his muscles as he yawned and stared around the basement. His bed, a cot with a heap of sheets and blankets, was recently vacated after he'd napped for what felt like hours. The concrete walls that housed the low, barred windows felt nothing like the exit strategy they were meant to be, and more like little guards that sealed him in.

He climbed the stairs quickly and exited out into the kitchen where Dr. Loomis was finishing up a bologna sandwich.

"We thought you wouldn't ever wake up!" Loomis laughed, and Michael smiled _almost_ effortlessly in response as he poured himself a glass of water and tried with all his might not to look around for the other half of the 'we' Loomis had spoken of.

Mary had been around almost constantly since her accident. This, of course, was against the rules that Loomis had set for her, but with what had turned out to be a violent ex-boyfriend on her tail, it wasn't as much _safer_ for her there as it was more _comfortable_. Her bruises had healed to a pale yellow now, and Michael drank his water down in three quick gulps as he envisioned only briefly how nice her face looked, even the discolored parts.

The front door opened, and with muscles tensed like a skittish cat, Michael turned around and stared at the kitchen's entrance. A moment passed, thick with anticipation before a voice finally broke the silence.

"I'm back! I have some grocery bags out in the trunk..." Mary trailed off, and with a wary & warning glance from Loomis, Michael took in a deep breath before heading out to help.

She reached the doorway just as he did, and as he moved carefully out of the way so as not to bump into the small woman, she smiled warmly at him.

"Thank you, Michael," she half-whispered as he walked by, and he nodded curtly, his insides flaming.

The fresh air was welcome against what he imagined were scarlet cheeks, and he breathed in deeply once again, quickly grabbing up the remainder of white plastic bags from the car. Before he could slam the trunk shut, though, a hand reached out before him.

"I've got it," she smiled, closing it and grabbing two bags from the ones Michael had gathered. He surrendered them to her and they stood there for a moment, awkwardly staring anywhere but at each other's faces.

"Better get inside," she smiled, and he nodded, gesturing for her to go ahead. "Thank you for helping, that old thing in there shouldn't be doing half the things he _is _doing at his age," she laughed, and Michael smiled, easier this time, as she passed him and quickly headed back through the front door.

"You got vanilla pudding!" the two heard Loomis bellow as they closed the front door behind them. Michael felt in his heart that this was a cover up, of course he'd been watching. He'd always be watching. He felt shame in his heart as he put the bags down on the kitchen counter.

"Of course I got vanilla pudding," MaryAnne chuckled, placing her own bags on the counter as well. "I'll make it for you if you want, it'll take a few though... have to refrigerate it and all," she spoke casually as she unloaded the groceries, and Michael watched from the doorway with what felt like strange admiration. The lives people chose to lead when they had no crippling obligations, no strings holding them down... groceries and vanilla pudding. Mary glanced over momentarily.

"You're smiling," she mentioned, and Michael stifled the urge to reach up and touch his face. He looked away quickly as she placed some bagged fruit in the refrigerator. "It suits you," she continued almost awkwardly, and he looked back at her, a smile graced her own features now as well. Loomis cleared his throat.

"Michael, could you do me a favor? Take a few of those leaf bags from the yard and bring them out to the curb, will you? The garbage men are coming to pick them up tomorrow..." he trailed off, eyeing the younger man with timid curiosity. Michael felt discouraged, but he nodded his head anyway. Leaf bags today, hosing off the concrete tomorrow, clearing the muck out of the gutters on the roof the next day... all jobs to keep his mind working, to help him from getting bored. Of course he couldn't idly stand around watching Mary. He headed out to the yard to clear away the black bags.

Rounding the corner, hands in his pockets, Michael noticed first that all the black bags were already gone from the yard. Second, he noticed a young boy looking at him from just over the fence into the neighbor's yard. He stopped short, staring back, and a few awkward moments passed before the boy smiled.

"Are you the doctor's son or something?" he asked, and Michael neared the fence slowly, shaking his head.

"Old friend, really..." he trailed off, and as he reached the fence he extended his hand, careful not to extend the one with the tattooed wrist, as he'd always been, and they shook hands.

"I'm Marty," the boy said, his hands were cold and strangely soft.

"Michael," he said with a nod, and then he cursed himself for using his real name, cursed himself harder than ever before as Marty's eyes lit up.

"So it's true..." he said, still shaking Michael's hand. Pulling away, the older man narrowed his eyes.

"What's true?" he asked.

"That the crazy old doctor has Michael Myers living in his house, of course... the whole neighborhood has been talking about some guy living here, and I heard my Mom saying that it was you, but nobody was sure, until now, of course..." he looked at Michel as he spoke, backing a way a step and glaring against the sun in his eyes.

"Not Myers," Michael said quietly, after a moment of internal panic.

"What?"

"I'm not Michael Myers... my... sister is staying here, so I'm just... helping out..." he trailed off once more, thinking about the absurdity of the situation and feeling pangs of inexplicable mixture of anger and regret bouncing around his chest. The kid looked visibly crestfallen, but not entirely convinced.

"Your sister? Nobody said anything about a girl here... what's your last name then?"

"Collins," Michael responded without a moments hesitation. That, of course, was not his _or _Mary's last name, but with the pangs in his chest growing wilder with every passing moment, he knew he had to get out quick.

"Michael Collins?" the kid spoke doubtfully, his hand on his forehead in something of a salute, still shielding his eyes from the sunlight.

"That's me. Listen kid, I've gotta get back inside... you may as well tell your _mother_ that there's nobody over here. And that Dr. Loomis isn't _crazy_."

Marty from next door looked up at Michael _Collins_ in a way that felt accusatory, and as he turned away, Michael was sure he heard the boy chuckle. Condescending and lousy, teenagers were, and the pangs in his chest bounced evermore. By the time he reached the back porch and looked back, Marty was gone, and though his insides were jumbled into an absolute mess, he went back inside quickly.

Mary and Loomis looked up at him expectantly, and he got the distinct feeling that they'd just been talking about him. His fists clenched unconsciously for a brief moment, and then he looked down at his black shoes which were, predictably, covered in mud. Kicking them off, he tried to take in a deep breath as he made his way through the kitchen in the direction of the basement, but his breath wouldn't come, and his heart wouldn't slow. Mary looked back down at the bowl of pudding she was slowly but surely preparing, and Loomis stared curiously at Michael who continued to panic like his cover'd just been blown. And then finally, the world slowed, and he felt himself slipping away.

His visioned darkened and blurred around the edges, and he felt his nails digging bloody little ridges into the palms of his hands. He heard somebody speaking but the words wouldn't come to him, and in his head his thoughts fell away slowly until a small sound, almost a clicking, triumphed over all else.

His knees hit the thinly carpeted floor, and a shudder ran through his body completely and totally, and he opened his eyes wide, holding onto the one image in the darkness that hadn't fallen away, that being Mary's frightened and confused face. He stared at her, or more rather _through_ her, and reached out his hands in a way that pleaded for help as his throat seemed to close around over his words.

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, down his back, on his palms and his neck, and finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, when the ever insistent clicking became entirely too loud, he closed his eyes and dropped his head down onto the carpet as well. And in that moment came a tiny, horrible prick behind his left ear. Blackness.

They'd laid him out on the floor in front of the porch doors, and Mary lifted his head carefully and placed a pillow underneath it. His body was rigid, and even in sleep a stress vein bulged on his forehead. His eyes were closed, but his fists were clenched, and the doctor administered one more sedative shot before he finally let go, and dropped soundly to sleep.

Kneeling down next to him, Mary looked up at Dr. Loomis who stood breathlessly, his hands shaking with the effort it took him to breathe, and to hold himself up there. She stood and lead him back to his chair where he also dropped down and caught his breath completely.

"What was that? What happened to him?" she asked, and Loomis looked at her with sad, wise eyes. Though she looked back at him, she couldn't take the sight of Michael's solid black form from her peripheral vision. He still slept there, finally relaxed, and she tried as well to do the same.

"That was something that I haven't seen happen to him in years, my dear..." Loomis said, and he reached out and patted Mary's folded hands on her lap. "Relax now, it's alright. He won't wake up for a while, and you'll certainly be gone before he does."

Mary swallowed down her argument as she listened to the old man's explanation.

"He used to have these fits, almost like seizures like you just saw, and then he would either black out, or become enraged. It was during one of these fits that he escaped the hospital all those years ago and came back for his sister and her two friends..." he looked down at his hands now, trying hard to remember.

"It wasn't so much that he couldn't control himself as it was that something else was trying to control him. Something stronger than him living in the deepest recesses of his body would come out and try to take the controls, and that, MaryAnne, is why you are not to stay here. You are not to come here. I've done you an unforgivable injustice allowing you to stay around here these last few days, and today was the ultimate test, when I would know it or not if he was fit to be around you, and though I'm not entirely sure, I am fairly certain that he has proved that he is not, just yet, ready for this stage of commitment."

"What do you mean? Test? He went outside to clear up the yard and came back in to a terrible fit!" Mary exclaimed, her heart racing at the thought of leaving before she understood, or even so much as had a chance to understand this situation. _His _situation.

"I sent him outside into a scenario that I knew would occur one of these days... the only difference is that I had it occur under my orders. A young guard from the hospital came and posed as a young neighbor, asked Michael some questions about his business here, and who he was. I imagine that the young guard isn't dead, because Michael wouldn't have had that fit then. He was armed with the same shots I just gave him, the guard I mean, not that it would have stopped Michael from doing whatever it was he may have done... but the point is that it set him off, not to the fullest extent, but to an extent that I haven't seen in very many years, Mary... something that was sleeping inside him tried to get out just now, and we are unimaginably lucky that it didn't..." Loomis explained.

Mary was quiet for a moment as she stared at Michael's sleeping form with curiosity. She wasn't angry, she wasn't alarmed, but she was concerned.

"You're using him like a lab rat, doctor... trying to see what will set him off, you're just playing with him! Tempting him like you would a drug addict or alcoholic... how is he ever meant to recover if he can't even have a safe place to relax?"

Loomis looked at her sitting there, her hands clenched atop her lap, her hair pulled back from her face, which was stained with tears and red with stress.

"My dear, how is he ever meant to recover if he is simply switching off for a bit before turning on again? He will never be able to work past these things if they are not stirred within him! Now you have to go, before he wakes up again, so I can be sure that you are not in any danger. I'll explain to him what I've done so that he may understand what he overcame today, or what nearly overcame _him_."

Mary stood up and went to the counter to gather her car keys and her jacket. She spotted the nearly finished pudding and quickly placed it in the refrigerator for later. She turned and made sure the doctor wasn't looking, and quickly grabbed a scrap of receipt paper and a pen from the counter, and scribbled something on it before putting on her jacket and turning back around.

"I'll go then, but I'm not staying away. There is something inside him that may be trying to force it's way out, but it's obviously something that is not stronger than a couple of sedatives. When he wakes up, you explain to him what happened, and you _ask_ him if he'd like to continue these tests, Dr. Loomis," she made her way past the old man and over to the spot where Michael laid out on the floor, and she leaned down next to him, pressing the scrap of paper carefully into his pocket. "He's a human being, not a monster or a test subject."

Standing up, she made her way back into the kitchen, placed a small kiss on the old man's balding head, and headed out the door to her car, her heart beating rapidly in her chest at the defiant act just committed. The old man watched her go, and then looked back at his patient there on the floor, asleep.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he stood up unsteadily. 'Here's hoping she's not wrong.'

The clicking. It didn't stop when he slept, not that he considered being knocked out any form of _sleep_. At least he didn't have to keep up appearances here. He also couldn't hurt anybody, so that felt nice. He was asleep, or unconscious, for a good hour before he realized it, and when he realized, he slipped smoothly from unconsciousness into honest-to-god sleep. So he dreamt. And in his dreams the clicking bounced around like the anger and regret bounced around his stomach, only in his dreams, the clicking had a face. Many faces, many voices, many time periods, and many lines of inappropriate dialogue that helped him ease his way from dream, into unbearably vivid nightmare.

Michael's nightmares were always the same. The clicking only had one face, there, and it was the face of Dr. Wynn. The man who'd ultimately signed his own death certificate by choosing Michael as his test subject and teaching him the ways of the beast.

He clicked, with his Wynn face, and circled the room, one dark concrete room, for hours on end while Michael sat on a metal bench with no arms and no back to support his tired body.

The nightmare rarely progressed past this, but when it did Michael understood exactly what the dark concrete room was. The grey walls where his childhood had been taken away, where his brain had been scraped clean, where the madness overtook him because it had nothing else to seep into... where he'd made his final transition. The dark grey cement walls of the Smiths Grove Sanitarium maximum security ward. The place they'd locked him away for his crimes before Loomis took over his case. When they realized it was already too late.

In the waking world the doctor watched as Michael's sleeping face twitched a bit. He was dreaming, this was a common sign, but of what... the old man had no idea. He sat back and watched as time passed into the second hour of observation, and he took a spoonful of vanilla pudding into his mouth thoughtlessly.

The clicking wasn't so much 'clicking' in the progression of the nightmare as it was the sound of a dirty old ping pong ball bouncing against the concrete wall and back into Michael's hands over and over and over again for all those lonesome hours while his mind melted away. They'd given him that at least, one small object to share the time with, not that the time was shared as much as it was bounced away. Click. Click. Click. Click. Over, and over, and over again.

He heard laughing in the distance, and pushed away back into the corner of the dark little room until the door opened and the grey-haired man in the black suit came in with the white coated men to take him back upstairs.

Their fists flew and their laughter increased with every bruise and every droplet of blood on the concrete floor, and it wasn't until the young boy had nearly peed his pants that they actually did their _job_ and carried him up to the minimum security ward. The dream ended at the doorway of the gray cell, because that was the only place he really and truly remembered. Eternally stuck inside a small grey cell. The only place his dreams ever brought him.

His dark eyes opened slowly, in his head sat a splitting headache, and on a chair a few feet away sat the doctor, patiently.

"Michael, you've done a lot of sleeping today," she old man chuckled, but his voice came thick through the haze of sedative induced slumber, and the room spun a bit as Michael sat up slowly.

"Don't hurry into anything, we have all night to chat. Mary's gone on home, but don't worry, she wasn't afraid. I made her go," the doctor said, and Michael wondered as he rubbed his temples _why_ the old man felt the need to clarify this fact.

"You let me know when you're ready to talk, and we'll get to it, okay? Go clean up and I'll get you a bowl of this pudding, it's phenomenal!"

Michael stood up unsteadily and made his way slowly, with carefully measured steps that he usually reserved for hunting other people like his prey, to the bathroom where he nearly drowned himself in the sink. He wiped his face clear of sweat and sleep, and he ran his hands through his dark brown hair absently while he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

A young man who needed to shave, with dark hair and dark eyes and dark eyebrows. He tried to smile, but that didn't come naturally. He couldn't remember a time when it had. He looked down at his hands. Man's hands with dirt under the nails and small cuts along most of the knuckles. Hands that'd taken lives, many lives. He pulled down his left shirt sleeve and stared at the thorn tattoo. The last remnant of the live he lived before, and struggled to get away from now. He pulled down the sleeve and shut off the bathroom light before heading into the basement to change out of his dirty clothes. The sun was just setting over the horizon.

Dr. Loomis spooned out a bowl of vanilla pudding and placed it on the table for Michael, who was gone a good 5 minutes before he came back into the kitchen wearing a fresh black shirt and his single pair of old dark jeans. He sat down at the table and looked curiously at the older man who watched him with a smile as he ate the pudding that was served to him, and the scenario continued on like this until he was finished, and had placed the bowl in the sink.

"Ready to have our chat?" Loomis asked, finally sitting down on his chair heavily, and Michael only nodded, sitting back down as well.

It was dark out when the doctor had finished explaining what he'd done to his patient, and Michael stayed calm through the entire process, which he and the doctor alike attributed to the last remnants of the sedatives still coursing through his system.

"I'm sorry I did this to you without your permission, it was wrong, which Mary so boldly explained to me... if you'd like to continue, I think this could really be something... but if you'd rather we just go the tried and true route, that's fine with me as well... but I can't promise any new results..." Loomis explained. Michael sat back in his chair, blowing out a sigh of air and sticking his hands in his pockets.

His right hand brushed something that wasn't there before he blacked out, and he wondered only briefly is this was another test. He looked at the doctor who smiled, oblivious to what Michael assumed was a very obvious change in his demeanor, as he pulled his hands back out of his pockets and immediately clasped them together on his lap.

"I'd like to continue with the new stuff... I mean, if you think it'll help. I don't want to hurt anybody anymore," Michael began after forcing the thought of what ever was in his pocket out of his mind. And then he realized what he'd said.

The doctor looked at him with wide blue eyes, and at the same moment both men broke out into smiles, one small and almost embarrassed, the other very large and excited.

"Michael, that's fantastic!" Loomis said, and Michael nodded after a moments deliberation. He wasn't lying, he realized all too soon, and in that moment it set in. He wasn't lying, and that only meant one thing. They'd go on with the treatment, and that put everybody, himself included, in danger.

His smile faded back down, and though he was still calm, he couldn't nearly match the excitement on the old fellow's face.

"I'm going to draw up a game plan, and I'll show it to you tomorrow, alright?"

Michael nodded.

"I'm going to head downstairs and try to get some real sleep, I think... being unconscious doesn't really count," Michael explained as he stood up and rubbed the back of his neck. Lying wasn't among his best talents, but it must've been passable because the doctor dismissed him with a nod and a wave of his hand.

"Sleep well!" he called in the general direction of Michael's retreating back, already busy himself scribbling down new ideas on the notebook on the table before him.

Michael reached his cot in the basement after bumping his way through the darkness to get to the solitary light that hung from the ceiling, and he sat down heavily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what appeared to be a small scrap of paper. He hoped and prayed that it wasn't just garbage as he carefully opened it, lying back against his muddled blankets like a makeshift pillow.

It was a receipt from the grocery store, and while he was momentarily crestfallen, he realized quickly that the buyers details were not his own, but those of MaryAnne D. Creighton. He turned the receipt over, and was almost alarmed by the jolt that shot through his chest.

"I know you're not a monster." The note read, and then underneath it: "Mall 9:30."

He wasn't sure, in that moment, what was really happening, but his heart beat fast in his chest and his palms began to sweat almost immediately. He couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain that he'd been summoned for what appeared to be something of a date.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:**** Hey guys! I'm really sorry this is so late, I've been obscenely busy. I've decided to take things in a different direction here, one that I think I'm going to like a bit more, so this chapter is the transition between the way things were going, and the way things will be going from here on out. I hope you like it, and I really am sorry for the delay! :) **

**Chapter 7**

9:30. The mall. Which mall? It had to be something of an mistake. Some kind of confusion. Michael felt sick, and his fingers brushed over the writing on the thin paper in his hands before he tucked it safely away in his pocket again. He turned his eyes to the ceiling. He couldn't possibly meet her, couldn't possibly put her in that situation. He didn't trust himself anymore than she should be trusting him, and somehow he felt the tiniest bit angry at her for tempting him this way... she had to understand, nothing between them could ever work out, whatever it even was that she wanted in the first place.

He sat up and glanced at the nearly busted wall clock resting against the wall on top of a round wooden table with a bunch of other discarded junk. It was already 9. It wasn't worth it, really. And his chest felt tight when this realization hit him. He wouldn't go, and that would be his first step in keeping her safe from himself. He shook his head at the ridiculous idea of a relationship, a friendship even, and stood up, shedding off his jeans and turning off the light before wrapping himself up in his blanket.

The morning greeted him later than usual, he assumed that this was directly related to the amount of sedative in his system. Making his way to the kitchen as usual, he sat down across from Dr. Loomis and found himself waiting for the old man to speak. No words came, only the scratching of a pencil tip against a stack of already heavily marked papers.

"Er... morning,"

Loomis looked up with eyes that said he had no idea Michael was even there.

"Oh, I'm sorry, my boy! I was working on your new treatment plan..." he chuckled, tucking the papers away into a yellow file folder. He crossed his hands over it and looked over his glasses at the worse-for-wear Michael.

"You've seen better days!" he chuckled, and Michael smiled a barely-there smirk as he stared blankly out the window.

"Don't you have anything you need done today?" he asked quietly. The day felt new and wrong to him, like he was sitting in a dream where everybody else knew he was dreaming.

"Hmm... well, you could clean up the basement a bit more if you'd like. I could always find some yard work that needs doing. I thought you'd want a day off after last night."

Michael thought about that. A day off. It would certainly feel good to relax, and the threat of not trusting himself seemed to loom off in some distant corner, and he smiled once more. "That actually sounds pretty nice... a day off would be good."

Loomis smiled at him before nodding and returning to his scribblings, and Michael felt for the first time like he was witnessing the version of his life he'd been cheated out of. The one where he wasn't a psychopath.

He stood up and headed into the living room towards the ancient looking television set. Television was never one of his interests, but in keeping with the tradition of a normal life, he sat down on the couch and flicked it on.

Immediately before him the black screen showed a rather short looking tan woman with black hair. She was yelling at a man and had a drink in her hand, and Michael felt his social isolation creeping up behind him as he watched people who he assumed to be in their mid-to-late twenties dancing all over the beach and applying fake tan. He changed the channel.

A news broadcaster in a revealing looking red dress sat behind a wooden desk with a look of concern etched onto her face. She wasn't saying anything, only staring, and he wondered briefly if she knew she was recording. With a sharp intake of breath she began to speak.

"A string of murders has been plaguing the eastern coast these past months, beginning with the violent death of a young Ohio woman at the hand of her estranged fiance, Clint Peters. There have been eight murders in total, ranging over five different states, and the police are suggesting that these are copy cat killers based in the shadow of Haddonfield's notorious killer, Michael Myers..."

He flicked off the TV without waiting to hear anymore. His heart felt heavy and the feeling of regret came bouncing inside of him once more, and he stared at the black screen feeling like nothing else on Earth. There was no way for him to escape himself, and he wondered all too often if the world would be better off without him even trying for redemption.

There came the sound of a light knock on the front door and it opened revealing none other than Mary herself before him. In contrast to the woman on TV Mary's own pea green skirt and yellow rain jacket looked rather timid, Michael smiled at her despite himself.

"Morning," she called absently, pulling off her jacket, and it occurred to him that it must be raining outside. The feeling of isolation ran through him at this realization.

"It's storming out there," she chuckled awkwardly as she hung up her jacket and it occurred to him that he'd stood her up.

"I didn't even notice, to be honest..." he replied just as awkwardly, turning his attention back to the black TV screen.

"That usually works better if you turn it on," she joked, and he looked up at her and smiled once again. She let out a small giggle and headed into the kitchen where Michael tried not to overhear the conversation about her agreeing to stay away from the house for her own safety.

Finally, he stood up and headed into the kitchen, his heart weighing him down, but his mind having come to a conclusion. They looked up at him as he came in.

"You don't have to tip toe around me like I'm a ticking time bomb. If I was going to kill you both, there would probably be some warning, and as my doctor you would be more than aware of the signs. I can't stay here anymore if this is going to be how it is, I just can't. I feel like my body is going to implode in on itself or something, and I can't continue filling the hours with mindless yard work while my brain chews through itself with all these stupid thoughts about what's right and what's wrong... so why don't we all just sit down and talk about the fact that Mary shouldn't be here because I'm inevitably going to kill her, and the idea that this new treatment you are working on might just help me out after all these years of failed attempts. And I can pretend I'm not going to end up back in prison or a psyche ward, and it'll all work out fine for a couple of days. Alright?" he was in a sweat, and his hands were shaking, and he had the most uncomfortable feeling in his throat like he was going to burst into tears. He wondered if he'd been drugged, but it occurred to him that other than the manual administration of a shot or pill, there was no way for Loomis to have given him anything since the sedative last night. He glanced at the two of them after a few moments of their continued silence, and found Mary to be smiling the largest smile he had seen from her, with her bruises barely showing in the muted light, and he found Loomis staring wide eyed, his pencil poised above his stack of white papers, his mouth parted a bit in shock.

"Why are you both looking at me like that? As if I've just broken a ten year bout of silence..." his resolve was weakening in their unexpected response.

Mary stood up, and as she approached him he winced without thinking, but it didn't stop her. She closed the distance and reached up with both of her small hands and placed them on either side of his face, holding his gaze against hers while the doctor stood up unsteadily, unsure of weather or not he should interject.

"You are not a monster, Michael. I know that, and he knows that, and I think that he wouldn't allow me here right now if he thought otherwise. We tip toe around you not because we are afraid, but because we don't want to hurt you. It's a rocky situation, and we want you to be comfortable so instead of welcoming you with open arms, we've both been shying away like scared children. But you're here, you're a person, and you need help and support. So if I can, I'm willing to be here as well, to be a person here to give you that help and support. Because I know that whatever it is that's inside of you will be washed away eventually. I have faith in you, and I'm not afraid of you. And you will be okay." she felt him shaking underneath her hands, not in anger, but in emotional stress. She let go, and patted his arm lightly as she stared up at him expectantly. The doctor edged a bit closer, a smile now gracing his face.

"I'd say this is a break through for you, but I'm fairly sure we both know that it is already. I'm proud of you, and I'm here to help you, and if this is how you want things to be, then that's how things will be." the doctor smiled at him, and Michael smiled back, emotions running thick through his veins like a stream of hot lava, and he felt whatever darkness was trying to get out get swept away in the current, at least for a while. He stepped past them and sat down at the table, staring out the window at the rain drenched lawn, and he realized that he felt lighter, somehow. Like something had been done. Lighter, and also a bit hungry.

"Is there anything here for breakfast?" he asked after they'd both come back to the table, and MaryAnne smiled at him before nodding.

"We've got eggs, and we've got toast, and I can probably make pancakes. If that's what you're thinking then that's what we'll have."

Michael looked at her and noticed for the first time the small dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. "That sounds good, Mary." he smiled. And Loomis nodded, stacking up his papers and folders and placing them on the floor next to his chair.

"So, Michael... what would you say to a bedroom on the first floor? You don't belong living down there with all my old garbage. The spare room is as good as yours!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's**** Note:** I did that thing again where I say I'm going to be consistent and then I'm not. I'm sorry guys! I hope you'll forgive me! Thank you so much for the reviews, they're lovely and extremely encouraging. There will only be one or two chapters left in this, just as a warning. That's all I have to say. I hope you like the update! :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Things had continued to improve for the subsequent two and a half weeks. With every brightening of the night sky into the dewey morning, the weight threatening to crush Michael's skeleton seemed to lift a bit. Day after day, things came easier. Staying in his pajamas and chatting with Loomis openly about things that would normally plague his thoughts became normal routines, and it wasn't for some days that any negative emotion displayed itself inside of him.

It was a sunny day, and the kitchen windows were open, allowing a slight breeze to filter through. Paper weights held down various stacks on top of the kitchen table, and with a smile on his face smiled spooned the last few mouthfuls of a piece of chocolate cake into his mouth. The sound of the bathroom shower running told him that Loomis was in the midst of his morning routine, and so he stood up, placed his dish in the sink, and headed into the back yard to enjoy the weather.

Sitting on the back steps felt wonderful despite the fencing around the yard restricting what would've otherwise been a feeling of openness. He breathed in deeply, the air infiltrating his lungs, and he imagined as he exhaled that his breath came through his nostrils in two thick black streams of smoke, clearing out the monster inside of him like a good spring cleaning. He thought of this as often as he could, and had accepted it into his mind that without these little bits of fresh air every day the monster inside would grow full of hot air again, and things would go south once more.

So he sat, near meditating, enjoying the breeze when from behind him he heard the door open, and he turned just in time to see Mary, a sweater wrapped around her snuggly, closing the door and heading in his direction. She sat down beside him and they smiled warmly at one another. She'd been almost as consistent around the house as his recovery had, and time had taken away most of the residual awkwardness in the wake of their botched rendezvous.

"No work today?" he asked casually, happy to have her company.

"Nope! Got the day off so I thought I'd come by and see how you two are doing over here. It's beautiful out, isn't it!" she opened her arms to the wind and Michael smiled as the scent of fresh laundry and clean soap hit him. She was surrounded by light, and it was as if even his overwhelming darkness couldn't chase it away.

"It's wonderful. I had to come sit out here, it felt wrong to be in the house. Loomis'll have to join us when he's out of the shower."

Mary glanced at him as she folded her arms back on her lap, and he glanced back only briefly before looking away, assuming she'd do the same. She didn't.

"You're looking so much better now that you've opened up a little bit," she smiled. And he looked back at her as she sat there, her honey colored eyes wide open with curiosity as she looked at him like he was the most interesting man she'd ever laid eyes on.

"It's nice to be given another chance like this. I know I don't deserve it after everything I've done. I don't know how he got the hospital to allow him to treat me here in his house instead of the hospital, or if he even told them I'm here this time, but it feels right. This feels right."

Smiling, she bumped his knee with hers. "Sometimes when you're just sitting there it's like I can see them leaving you. The memories, the nightmares. It's almost as if you're slowly deflating. I only wonder if maybe it'd be better if you had something to fill the empty space with..." she trailed off as she stared at the side of his face, noticing for the first time how his facial hair filled in rapidly, despite his shaving almost daily. His hair was so dark, almost black, that it was unmistakable when he'd skipped a day. He had a small cut on the corner of his jawbone under his ear, and before she could stop herself she lightly reached out and brushed her finger over it. He turned quickly and grabbed her hand.

The feeling of her touch had sent a shiver down his spine, and as he grabbed her hand he made a conscious effort to hold it lightly, gingerly, so she didn't get the wrong idea. It made no sense to beat around the bush, and if she wanted so badly to fill his empty spaces then who was he to deny her that? His fingers intertwined with hers, and as she squeezed her palm against his, it was like the key to the door of darkness had been handed to him. He felt something shift, he felt afraid for a moment as if he didn't have control, and then all at once there was a release unlike any other in his brain, and he smiled before letting out a nearly gleeful laugh. Mary stared at him with a puzzled expression as he stood up and pulled her up behind him.

"I don't even know what just happened but it feels like somebody reached into my head and poured boiling water through my brain. I feel so clean, and... just... like... laughing!" he chuckled again at this and she spotted a shine in his eyes that had never been there before so she reached out and took his other hand in hers.

"I don't want to push you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, Michael... but I've wanted to be able to do this since the first time I saw you. Well, admittedly it was probably the second time, the first time I was rather confused," she chuckled in the wake of her own little ramble and leaned up on her tip-toes to place a small kiss on his cheek, and though the second burst of boiling water through his brain wasn't nearly as good as the first, it still felt as though she was the Dorothy to his Tin Man, slowly oiling up the rusted hinges that'd been locked in place for so many long years. He looked down at her and grinned, she looked up at him and beamed, and from the doorway to the house came a small, awkward cough of arrival. They both turned and stared.

Loomis was looking at them with a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes, and Michael let go of Mary's right hand but still held onto her left. He turned to face the older man with a rather resolute look about him.

"I'm not going to say that I don't approve, but I am going to say that these are extraordinary circumstances that require extraordinary patience and control from within the both of you. On that note, I have an appointment in the city today, and have to be heading out. I'm going to leave you both here with what I want you to know is not a light heart. I am trusting both your medical knowledge, Mary, and your condition, Michael. Perhaps both of which are presently against my better judgement, but that remains to be seen. If either of you feel like something is wrong, don't hesitate to separate yourselves from one another. I've said my peace, and now I'll be off!" he ended this rather long speech with a chuckle and a wave of the hand that wasn't resting on his cane, and Mary let out a small chuckle at the gesture. They followed the old man into the house and helped him to the door where he stood and waited for his car pool.

"You'd think that they wouldn't ask the oldest living specimen on Earth to come all the way into the city for a meeting that he probably doesn't really need to attend anyway," he grumbled as he stood there, staring out the front window.

"I'm sure they just want to see your smiling face, Sam," Mary replied, and she too stared out the window in anticipation. It was only Michael who found himself staring at the floor.

This would be the first occasion on which he was to be left alone in the house with Mary, and only Mary. He felt her soft hand in his and he squeezed it lightly, smiling as she returned the easy gesture, and yet still he knew that he was putting her in danger. It was unacceptable to allow her to stay with him, but he knew that even if he faked a freak out now and scared her enough to send her home, her unfaltering dedication would have her back at their door in the morning _just checking up._

He thought then, for whatever reason, about the day his sister admitted to him that she, too had darkness inside of her.

_Sitting at her dressing table she looks beautiful enough to be a movie star. Her long chestnut hair falls gracefully down her back, and in a plain t-shirt and jeans she still manages to stun him into place there on her carpeted floor. _

'_Michael' she says, not bothering to look over her shoulder at him but staring at him instead from the mirror. 'I know you've seen it, and you know I've seen it... so why are we trying to hide it? It's here, isn't it? We both know it's not going away, and yet you won't let me near enough to see... we could be so great. Nobody would suspect it from you, you're too innocent. Imagine the fun we could have'_

_She speaks of the darkness like it's some kind of sixth sense. She wants to team up and hurt people, attack people, steal things... kill things. Judy wants his help, and the only thing holding him back is the expression on Laurie's face as she sits crouched in the doorway, waiting for him. Her wide eyes are afraid he'll say yes and they'll both turn on her without a second thought. He shudders, Judy notices, she stands up, crosses the room, and grabs the top of his ear with her fingernails, squeezing until he's sure there is blood dripping all the way down onto his shoulder. Laurie isn't making any noise, but he knows she must be horrified. Judy doesn't let up because he won't whimper or cry. There's no satisfaction. This is always the dead giveaway that there's something wrong._

"Here he is! About time!" Loomis declared as a red sedan pulled into the driveway. Mary leaned over and gave the old man a small kiss on the cheek and Michael found himself reminded not he was not a little boy. Unconsciously he reached up, taking his hand from Mary's, and felt curiously for the crescent moon scars lining the inside of his right ear. They were there, of course. Right where he left them. And he swallowed hard and shook his head clear of the memory as the doctor opens the front door to head out. Mumbling a goodbye at the last minute, he watched Mary close the door. And then she was facing him with a small, almost embarrassed smile.

"Funny how he picks today to go out," she murmured, and he chuckled and nodded. "If you want me to go, I will... if it's too much."

Michael shook his head and reached out and took her left hand once more. She smiled, visibly relieved, and they stood there for a few more short moments just smiling at the thought of being able to share each other's undisturbed company for at least the whole afternoon.

"Well, back outside, then?" she asked, and he watched the way her mouth moved as she formed these words, and he listened to the way her voice rose with the question, and he nodded absently as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly.

"What was that for?" she asked lightly, almost whispering in the quiet house. Michael didn't answer as he led the way back out to the back porch steps.

The sun shined brightly all afternoon, beating down on the little house and filling it with a warm, almost hot air. Michael and Mary had spent a long time outside together, their hands very rarely unclasping, their kisses coming few and far between, yet each and every one being special. They circled the yard a few times, talking briefly about his mental state, but more than anything about her romantic state and the bruises that had faded and were now completely invisibly once more. Michael was the one who brought it up.

"I don't mean to pry or anything, but you never did tell me how you got that black eye... you don't have to tell me now either, but I would like to know. I'm all ears, you know, if you ever want to talk about it."

She looked up at him as she stepped for what felt like the hundredth time over a ground down tree stump in the far corner of the backyard, and felt his hand move in hers ever so lightly. He knew she was looking but didn't return the gaze, choosing instead to let her decision be unfettered by whatever she was looking for in his face.

"I was seeing a man who I trusted with my heart when I knew better in my brain, and it finally caught up with me," she started, not looking away from his face as they rounded the corner and moved away from the fence a bit to skirt the edge of a long series of hedges. "It never felt right, but I was desperate for it to be okay, so I didn't trust my instinct. That's all really. I know better now."

"It's not your fault."

"Maybe not, but if I'd gotten away when I had the chance... before he really took control, then things would've been easier on me. It doesn't do well to toss all personal blame to the wind when you're victimized in a situation. I was in the wrong, but he was even moreso in the wrong. We both have things to reflect on, the only difference is that it was a learning experience for me and something of an encouraging experience for him. Just another chance to prove his masculinity."

Michael glanced down at her, seeing how she stared off into the distance as if at the simple thought of it, she'd brought herself completely back into the moments she'd experienced in her past. He stroked her thumb with his, and she looked up at him and smiled, bringing an inexplicable feeling of glee into his heart as she stopped looking so distant.

"That's what I saw in you in the beginning, I think. You've done terrible things, but you never did them as a power play. You never went after people to reassure yourself that you were able to overpower them. You don't have to be the alpha male, and yet you're possibly one of the most timid people I've ever met. He was never like that. He was always there to put my in my place when he thought I was out of line. Exercising control that he had no right to hold. All you want is to be able to control yourself. You trust other people to govern themselves. You give them freedom, while at the same time holding within yourself any number of ways to wipe them out of the world. And that's how I know there is more inside of you than a monster."

He was floored by the examination that she'd evidently given him. He felt exposed, and at the same time blissful in that exposure. There was no reason to hide, hell, no real _way_ to hide from her if she knew all that about him without so much as asking him how he was feeling and getting even once an honest answer.

"Michael, you're a remarkable person. My past is scattered with people who had remarkable outsides to shield their grimy insides. You have a dark outside, a face that people recognize as synonymous with darkness, and an inside that shines like gold once anybody bothers to get through. Don't get me wrong, your a very handsome man! What I mean to say is that you've done things that you're known for. Dark things. And yet you have more light inside of you than any number of remarkable seeming people I've met in the past. I may have had bruises to show my mistakes, but you have taken so much more than that."

They'd stopped walking, and she took his other hand in hers, and he was only dimly aware that a conversation that was meant to be about her, turned back around onto him. The mystery of the bruises and the ex-boyfriend was still afoot, but as he stood there looking down at her he felt for the first time that the mass inside his chest wasn't just a storm cloud, but was actually what could pass as a heart.

He let go of her hand and lightly brushed the hair back from her face, and then as gently as possible, he placed his finger under her chin to guide her face to his own, and without a real moments notice, they were kissing.

A light kiss, calm and cautious at first but quickly turning into something much more necessary than that. The feeling of boiling water turned into that of a boiling waterfall, and his head simply swam with it as her soft lips crushed his own. He pulled her close to him, and she wrapped her arms around his body, and in that instant he felt like any other human being would feel in that situation. The darkness was gone, completely and totally at least for the moment, and as they broke away, her face was flushed and they stared at one another for a few long moments, wrapped in each other's arms, both breathless.

"You are a remarkable person," she repeated in a whisper, and he placed two more kisses on her mouth and lightly rested his forehead against her own. They made their way back into the house shortly thereafter, and it was only another forty-five minutes before the doctor returned.

Mary headed home around 5PM right before Michael's therapy session, but not before assuring that both Michael and Dr. Loomis would have enough food to eat for dinner. He followed her to the door and took her into his arms. It felt different when he knew they weren't alone, and yet even when they broke apart he felt the loss immediately and knew he'd be preoccupied all night waiting for her to come back. It wasn't until he made his way back to the kitchen that the first negative feeling in weeks spilled over him. There was a note on the kitchen table where the doctor was sitting, and on that note was a simple header that read in bold black letters: Smith's Grove Sanitarium.

His heart seemed to switch from full of love and light to hanging on by a thread, and as he dropped into a seat by the doctor who was scribbling madly on a piece of loose-leaf paper, the old man looked up at him with eyes that promised good news and bad news.

"Bad news first, if you please."

Smiling at Michael's intuition, Loomis grabbed the paper he'd acquired from the sanitarium and folded it up into a square before promptly tearing it into quarters.

"There is no bad news, by boy. They're allowing you to remain in my custody so long as your condition continues to improve. The letter was filled with nonsense about a happy home environment for the patient. It's garbage, and we're way beyond that anyway. And as for the good news..." he trailed off, adding unnecessary suspense at the sight of Michael's visible relaxation.

"And the good news...?" Michael prodded.

"The good news is Mary's ex boyfriend has been arrested today. They found him locked in his own car, holding the keys, in a Las Vegas desert, the money he stole from her still in the back seat, along with the gun used at the scene of the crime and an inexplicable lock of her hair. He's going to be in jail for a long time!" Loomis declared, and as he spoke the news of these circumstances filled Michael so completely with anguish that almost desired to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

She'd changed the subject before revealing what'd happened - which apparently was nothing short of good old fashioned robbery and assault, and only God knew what else. Boiling water cleansing his system quickly turned to boiling rage, and his breathing slowed, and his fists clenched tight, and he imagined the blood spilling violently from the body of the man who'd ever hurt her. He closed his eyes to try and stop the thoughts from coming, to try and suppress whatever darkness was obviously spilling out in a bit of runoff from the day's good-humor.

But as he stood up from the table and looked down into the doctor's eyes, he felt himself slipping away and try as he might, he simply couldn't bring himself to warn the old man to get away, and get away fast. Because something was coming that didn't like to be fought off, and it was coming fast, hard, and with a vengeance. He bit his tongue in an effort to control it, and with the taste of blood filling his mouth, everything slipped into darkness. He'd lost control.


End file.
